Before We Were Three

My husband Chad and I expect our Little Mister, as I've dubbed him, by July 9, 2015. Until yesterday, the pregnancy was smoothly sailing along, aside from weeks of hurling my insides into a toilet and crying, "I'm never doing this again" as my husband flushed the toilet and handed me wash cloths. Then there's the sciatic pain that limits my mobility. I was a runner (OK run/walker interval style) and now I can barely walk. I prefer to lie on my side, but unfortunately spend a great deal of time sitting up, with my now 187-pound body's weight sitting very heavy on my incredibly sore left hip. Thankfully, though, my body hasn't grown any further. I'm up only 8 pounds from pre-pregnancy weight after losing nearly 11 pounds during the first trimester.

But other than those two ailments, the pregnancy has sped by. I learned to not eat meat. In turn I stopped throwing up. Carbs became my best friend, and grow our little boy did. In fact, he's not so little now. At 33 weeks, 6 days on May 27, he weighed in at an estimated 6.5 pounds. He should be 4.5 according to the all-knowing charts. Instead he is big – after all, his Dad is 6-foot-4. It makes sense. Oh and his foot was on his head during the ultrasound. He's in the right position with his head down and his feet by my chest, but that afternoon he chose to move his foot and rest it on his forehead. Believe me when I say I felt exactly when he chose to move it back to my chest. It was not the most pleasant feeling. But it was cool to know exactly what he was doing at that moment.
Though the ultrasound showed "big baby," it also showed high amniotic fluid. That's not good. It was only 26.2, though, so it's at least just slightly elevated. All the same, though, it's cause for concern. That means more testing.

As someone who has PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), the doctors were already paranoid of gestational diabetes. I was tested at 12 weeks, failing the one-hour glucose. At 13 or 14 weeks I sailed through the 3-hour test, passing it. At 23 weeks I believe, I took the one-hour again at the "normal" time. Failed it of course. And once again I sat in their office for three hours, just to prove yet again that I didn't have gestational diabetes. Guess what I get to do tomorrow? You guessed it, another 3-hour test. At least they let me bypass the one-hour test this time.

I'm nervous. I can't concentrate and I just want to lie in bed and cry at the "what if" questions. What if the first round of testing did not show Down's syndrome and he actually has it? (Not that I wouldn't still love him to pieces, but since the previous testing was all negative, I was pretty sure he was not affected.) What if he has some random virus (also testing for) or his kidney or liver function is inadequate (both possibilities). Will he need surgeries right after he is born? Will he survive those? What if he is stillborn? How would I survive my child dying at birth? I'm not sure I could go on. I'm really not.

I am so scared, as is Chad, and all we can do is wait. Wait for the specialist's office to call us to arrange an appointment. Wait for the blood work to come back. Wait, wait, wait. All the while wondering what is going on inside my body and knowing it is out of our control.
I'm trying to simply enjoy all of his movements – Little Mister is quite the dancer, especially when it comes to alternative music. He likes Sublime as much as his Mama does. He also thinks Daddy's 4:10 a.m. alarm means it's time to party – especially when Daddy snoozes it over and over again. We've got Daddy down to 3 snooze hits max, but are working him down to becoming someone who arises with alarm No. 2. We can deal with two sets of beeps.

The unknown remains in front of us, but hopefully the doctors will call today and we can move forward. All we can do for now is wait and pray.